Harry Potter and the Nightguard
by GrandNinjaMasterRen
Summary: Mike gets a letter apologizing for overlooking him. To play catchup with his magical peers he's been 'convinced' to go to Hogwarts. Too bad for Umbridge, this nightguard isn't afraid of breaking the rules.
1. Chapter 1 (06-18 13:14:30)

Mike sat on the stool, the sorting hat- he refused to give that thing capital letters- was on his head, its large brim hiding his eyes. He could hear-was it hearing if it was in his head- the hat speaking-thinking- to him.

 _Not the brightest are you… Plenty of courage, though._

Mike thought of the job he had held prior to ending up where he was. Of course he was courageous.

 _Reckless and suicidal is probably more accurate. Not adverse to hard work, but you do not enjoy it._

Mike thought that no sane person would enjoy hard work.

 _You are not exactly in the best position to make aspersions upon others' sanity. You lack both ambition and cunning._

Mike thought idly that staying alive did count as ambition.

 _You lack curiosity about anything relevant. It is clear to me now… You belong in…_

"Gryffindor!"

Mike handed the ego-killing hat to the Scottish teacher and sauntered his way to the clapping table. He slung his leg over the bench and set his backpack down next to him, carefully placing a large, black, square box with a lid on top of the bag. Mike vaguely listened to the Gandalf-look-alike that talked for a bit before food appeared on the tables. He blinked. Mike decided that magic would explain the sudden appearance of food.

He glanced around and was slightly disappointed to find that pizza and coke were not on the menu. Mike instead grabbed some of a nearby chicken and some water. To his dismay, the chicken would have to be eaten without ketchup.

"So, mate, what's in the box?" Asked a redhead teen. Mike sized up the older teen.

"A shipment of meth from Canada" Mike answered sarcastically. The redhead and his twin across the table laughed.

"But, no, seriously, what's with the box?"

"Company policy states that I am not allowed to answer that question." Mike responded dully. The people within earshot started whispering, but Mike ignored them.

The rest of the meal was uneventful. Mike tuned out a short, plump woman in pink babbling on about progress by wondering what was happening with Jeremy. He felt a slight twinge of guilt at having to leave the poor guy with all the work at the pizzeria. Mike resolved to make it up to his coworker over the summer.

The walk to the dorms was long and mostly upstairs. Mike quickly found the boys' dorm for his year and entered- into an argument.

"What about you?" Someone demanded of Mike.

"What about me?"

"Do you believe him? That You-Know-Who is back?" Someone else pressed.

"Believe who about what?" Mike said blankly. He just wanted to sleep. Jet lag was making it hard to blink without wanting to shut his eyes.

"Never mind. I'm going to sleep." Mike said as the first boy went to start an explanation. Mike pulled a music box out of his backpack and wound it. The soft chimes filled the air. Mike lay down on his bed and was promptly asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Mik sat up suddenly. It was quiet, far too quiet. He searched the room wildly. His eyes found the still sleeping forms of other people and the blurry, dreamlike memories of that night-last night?- came to him. Magic school, he remembered.

He changed his shirt from the ratty Metallica t-shirt he'd worn the day before to a blue t-shirt with an image of Bonnie. He still found it strange that the pizzeria carried shirts in his size. Mike noticed vaguely that light was coming through the window. He began to make his way down to the cafeteria.

Mike sat on the bench and pick out some toast.

Pretty soon, the redheaded twins from the night before began talking loudly to another redhead, a curly-haired girl, and a glasses wearing boy. The Scottish teacher handed him a schedule. None of the classes he had that day seemed interesting, other than potions-was it like chemistry?- and Defense Against the Dark Arts- what was defined as 'dark'?- everything looked pretty standard. Granted his high school didn't have a 'Divination' class, but history was a class he'd passed.

Soon enough Mike had grabbed his backpack and had, luckily, found the History class. He had a slight shock when he realized the teacher was a ghost, but he thought that if all ghosts taught history test scores would be through the roof.

While most of the class slept or zoned out, Mike took notes. The giant wars seemed like something out of a video game, but he had to admit that his life had gotten extremely fantastical.

The passing period was only just long enough for Mike to locate the potions classroom- why does a school have dungeons?- and he barely missed being late.

"Taking our time, are we, Schmidt?" The teacher asked delicately.

"Sorry, sir. I've never been good with directions." Mike responded, taking his seat.

"Today we will be making the Draught of Peace. The ingredients and method are on the blackboard. You will find everything you need in the store cupboard. You have an hour and a half… Begin" the teacher's words were punctuated with a flick of his wand. Mike was about to attempt the potion when the teacher called his name.

"Schmidt, come here for a moment." Mike walked over, ignoring a blond who was smirking.

"Sir?"

"Have you ever brewed a potion before?"

"I've made candy in chemistry class, does that count?" Mike asked.

"Attempt for me then this first year potion. If you get it correct you will move on." He handed Mike a sheet of paper with instructions. The teacher went on to criticize and correct other students.

As the students filed out of the classroom to lunch, Mike found himself in walking near the other Gryffindor students. At lunch, however, he was sitting next to the redhead from earlier.

"Hey, you're the new kid, right?" The redhead demanded.

"No. I've been here the entire time you're just unobservant." Mike responded seriously.

"Honestly, Ron. Didn't you pay attention last night? He's from America, and they didn't know he had magic until now." The girl said.

"Yup." He said popping the 'P', "I'm Mike Schmidt. My favorite food is pizza. I'm allergic to peanuts. I have a bachelors degree in mechanical engineering. I'm fifteen. I have no idea what's going on."

"Herminone Granger." The girl said, "The redhead is Ron Weasley, and the boy next to him is Harry Potter." Mike leaned over to look at Harry.

"Cool. Um… Question. Can anyone show me where the Divination classroom is?"

"Yeah, we have it next." Harry said.

After lunch, the two boys led Mike up an ungodly number of stairs and a small silver ladder. The teacher, a small, dragonfly-ish woman, introduced the subject and assigned them to read about dream interpretation.

"I never remember my dreams" Ron said.

"I don't remember any of mine either" Harry replied.

"I had a dream that an anthropomorphic chicken made me pizza" Mike said suddenly. It was true, of course, that Chica had made pizza, the only dream bit was her making it for him.

"What does antha-whatever mean?" Ron asked at the same time as Harry asked, "Why would a chicken make pizza?"

A discussion on the behaviors of chickens followed and lasted until the reached their next class.

"Good Afternoon" the pink lady chirped cheerfully. Mike mumbled a halfhearted good afternoon. The teacher shook her head and tutted.

"That won't do, now, will it? I should like you, please, to reply 'Good Afternoon, Professor Umbridge.' One more time, please. Good Afternoon, class!" Mike rolled his eyes, but dutifully replied.

"There, now that wasn't too difficult, was it? Wands away and quills out, please."

Mike pulled out a notebook and a mechanical pencil.

"Mr… You there with the bunny shirt. What's your name, dear?"

"Mike Schmidt. And it's Bonnie, he's a rabbit, not a bunny"

"Well, Mr. Schmidt, robes are the dress code at Hogwarts, for starters. Additionally, whether the rabbit or bunny on your shirt has a name doesn't matter. Also what do you have on your desk?"

"Pencil and paper?" Mike said picking said items up to display them.

"Next class I would like you to bring quill and ink and wear your robes."

"Yes, it seems like you would."

"I'm sorry?" Umbridge asked.

"Never mind" Umbridge retrieved her wand from a handbag and tapped it against the blackboard. The course aims scribbled themselves across the board and she told the students to copy the down.

"Has everybody got a copy of _Defensive_ _Magical_ _Theory_ by Wilbert Slinkhard?"

"Does everybody have" Mike corrected under his breath.

"I think we'll try that again. When I ask you a question, I should like you to reply 'Yes, Professor Umbridge' or 'No, Professor Umbridge.' So, has everyone got a copy of _Defensive_ _Magical_ _Theory_ by Wilbert Slinkhard?"

"Does everyone have" Mike corrected again.

"Good. I should like you to turn to page five and read chapter one. There will be no need to talk." Mike lay his head on his arms and allowed himself to tune out the class.

"It's me!" Someone said. Panic overtook Mike at the familiar phrase. He tried to stand, and smacked into the desk. He fell to the floor and pushed himself up. He was breathing heavily and scanning the room for the golden bear.

"Mr. Schmidt, I should like you to explain why you saw fit to disrupt the class in this manner." Umbridge stated. With the lack of an animatronic nearby, Mike slowly calmed down.

"Someone said a phase that has somewhat of a… Negative impact on me." Mike hedged.

"What phrase would have such an effect on a child like you?"

"It's me." He said reluctantly.

"A week of detention, Mr. Schmidt. Such behavior is inexcusable" Mike thought that if she had gone through what he did, she wouldn't think that.


	3. Chapter 3

Dinner that night was a strange affair. People kept looking at Harry and talking.

"Dude, what's their problem? You-Know-Who is what you call someone when you're trying to exclude them. There are so many better titles that could go with the awe and fear the regard that person with." Mike said easily. Harry looked grateful at the first sentence, but shocked by the rest.

"Then, again" Mike continued, " Can you expect any better from a group of clay-brained, knotty-pated, obscene tallow-catches?" Everyone in earshot stared at him. Mike rubbed the back of his neck.

"I, uh, like insulting people in Shakespeare. Don't laugh! It's very therapeutic." Mike couldn't keep from smiling.

The rest of dinner was uneventful. When they had returned to the living room of the dorms, Mike dashed off to help the redhead twins test joke candies. Hermione watched from across the room as Mike chewed a small orange candy that tasted vaguely of grape. Mike collapsed on the floor instantly.

Mike woke when he tasted oranges. He sat up and chewed the candy.

"Why the fuck does the orange one taste like grape and the purple one taste like orange?" Mike yelled at the twins. Hermione smacked him upside the head.

"Don't swear." Mike went upstairs to sleep around midnight. He kicked off his ratty, old Nikes and wound the music box before drifting off to sleep.

The next morning Mike pulled on a cleaner pair of jeans and his russet Foxy t-shirt before heading to breakfast. His classes for the day were: Charms, Transfiguration, Care of Magical Creatures, and Herbology- they have a gardening class?!- and because of his acquaintances' knowledge of the school he wasn't late. In both Charms and Transfiguration the teacher made him practice an easier spell. Despite having a mild interest in Care of Magical Creatures, Mike found the bowtruckles very boring. So boring that he found himself looking forward to gardening class.

At five minutes to five, Mike and Harry left dinner to go to their detentions. Harry was suitably horrified by the décor, but Mike being himself just complemented Umbridge on her kitten plates.

"Now you both are going to be doing lines for me. With a very special quill of mine." She said sweetly.

"We're going to draw lines? I thought this was detention, not art class." Mike asked. Umbridge handed each of them a long, thin, black quill.

"You, Mr. Potter will write _'I must not tell lies.'_ And you, Mr. Schmidt will write _'It's me'_ " Mike stiffened.

" You both will write it as many times as it takes to sink in."

Mike reluctantly scribbled the phrase on the parchment-was it made of goat skin?- and gasped as the words appeared on his hand. He grit his teeth and began to write faster, wanting to get the punishment over with. Blood trickled down Mike's wrist by the time she let them go. In the dorms, Mike bound his hand in bandages he kept with him at Jeremy's urging. Mike stayed up finishing his homework and when he was done at approximately five a.m. changed into a buttercup-yellow Chica t-shirt and practiced the spells he'd learned the day before.

The day went by quickly, and before long, it was time for the second detention. ' _Sorry, Jeremy. Guess I won't be able to stay out of trouble. She can't get away with this._ _I won't let her get away with this.'_ Mike thought.

The week passed in a haze, with the only major change being the constant presence of the bandages on Mike's hand. The phrase had been etched so deeply that it would bleed if Mike so much as moved his hand. Mike spent the weekend sleeping, his music box chiming its little tune at all hours, the fifteen-year-old only waking to wind it up again.

On Monday morning, Snape had Mike brew a potion to cure boils. Mike dropped in the next ingredient and his cauldron exploded with a bang. Mike hit the ground hard, and did not move.


	4. Chapter 4

Six months previously…

Mike eyed the manager. He definitely didn't want to spend at least a week hanging out in a closed pizzeria at an ungodly hour of the morning, but, being only fourteen and a runaway he had to have money. He signed the contract.

His week was filled with close calls and narrow escapes, but when Monday rolled around, he was at the pizzeria at eleven, ready to go. Mike noticed one of the day workers leaning against the wall opposite the stage. He stood next to the guy.

"Hey, haven't seen you before. You new, kid?" The man asked. Mike shrugged.

"New enough. Today's day eight."

"Eight, huh? Cool. What shift?" The man asked evenly.

"Midnight to six" Mike answered, turning to take in the man's reaction.

"You came back?! What kind of idiot are you?!" Mike smirked.

"I was right!" He said triumphantly.

"Right about what?" The man drawled.

"You stand in a spot with a view of all of the animatronics, you look at them frequently to insure they are still in place. The biggest tell though, you glance at Pirate's Cove too. Conclusion: You had to have been a night-guard at some point or you wouldn't be so wary." Mike explained.

"Jeremy Fitzgerald" the man said offering a hand.

"Mike Schmidt"

Two months later:

Mike despite still being underage, criminally underpaid, and a criminal, continued working at Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria. He had somehow struck up a tentative friendship with both Bonnie and Chica. Jeremy often met with Mike in their off time, and the two acted like brothers most of the time.

Mike was clued in to the problem when he walked into work. Jeremy was sitting in one of the chairs, talking to a woman in a pantsuit.

"Mikey, sit down. There are things we need to talk about." Jeremy said. Mike grabbed a chair, turned it around backwards and swung his leg over. He leaned over the back of the chair, resting his chin on his crossed arms.

"Sup, Jere. You're acting like someone died or something" Jeremy's wince was telling.

"Mr. Schmidt, three days ago your parents died in a plane crash. As you are underage and have no other family members, you are now a ward of the state." The woman spoke. Mike was numb. His parents were dead? He never saw them much, in fact, his 'leaving' was mostly in a desire to hurt them, to make them notice him in his absence. They didn't.

"Hold up. What would it take for me to become his legal guardian?" Jeremy asked. Mike looked at him in shock.

"You guys should talk elsewhere or later. It's nearly midnight." Mike said dully.

Two months later:

Jeremy had bought all rights to Fazbear's. He and Mike spent most of their time at the pizzeria. Foxy had submitted to the combined efforts of the males to fix him and the Marionette ran the prize corner again.

Only day, Mike noticed a dull yellow rabbit. That wasn't one of their animatronics. One glance was enough to get Jeremy on the phone as Mike followed the rabbit to a back room full of spare parts and children.

Mike jumped in front of the rabbit and shoved it back, away from the terrified kids. The rabbis held a knife which Mike had to work to dodge as he led it to the main dining hall. People were screaming.

"Give up, Michael" The rabbit's voice was smooth and cultured. Mike dodged a swing for his right thigh, but the knife buried itself in his left side. Mike gasped.

"Or what, Afton?" The rabbit stiffened. Mike wheezed and grinned drunkenly at the serial killer.

"Didn't expect me to know your name, huh, Afton?" Mike pulled the knife from his side and threw it.

The bloodstained knife hit the fire alarm. The sprinklers went off. A series of loud snapping sounds filled the air and Afton collapsed in a puddle of blood.

One month later:

"Junk… Junk… Bill… Bill… Junk… Who the heck sends a gay porn magazine to a children's restaurant?" Mike said flipping through the envelopes.

"If I catch you reading that we're going to have a chat on what's socially acceptable to do in public places." Jeremy called from the office.

"Oh! Hey! I got a letter… Why'd I get letter? Literally everyone I talk to regularly is in this building."

"Read it, dimwit."

"We regretfully inform you that your application to Ilvermorny School of Magic has been declined. Blah blah blah, something about pigs with skin cancer, blah blah, something about magic… Is this some kind of joke?" Jeremy came out of the office and held out his hand for the letter. Mike handed it to him and began flipping through the rest of the mail.

"Bill… Junk… Junk… Letter to Bonnie... Letter to me… Again with the magic thing." Jeremy frowned.

"Read that one."

"We are pleased to inform you, you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Blah blah, something about birds, blah, school supply list… Wow, whoever's doing this is a try-hard because they put a legit school supply list for their fake magic school." Mike held up said list.

"Whatever, just toss 'em. They're junk. Pretty unbelievable for a prank. Good thing there's no such thing as magic."

The letters kept coming and kept being thrown out until a woman showed up an explained that it was not, in fact, a joke, but that Mike had magic. Again both the fifteen-year-old and the twenty-six-year-old denied the concept of magic. The woman then stated that if Mike didn't attend magic school that would be a criminal offense to the Wizarding World and that Mike would be imprisoned and Jeremy's mind would be wiped of Mike entirely. It was that threat that led a grumbling Mike off with the woman. Before they left however Jeremy handed Mike a large, black box and Mike's backpack filled with clothes and the music box that Mike was so attached to.

"The box is just in case. Don't open it until you need it. And Mike, behave. Try not to get into too much trouble." Jeremy fretted.

"I'll be fine, Jere. Don't worry." Mike said. The crack of teleportation rang through the building.

"Well, that was certainly something wasn't it?" Jeremy asked. Chica gave a creak of agreement.


	5. Chapter 5

Severus rushed to Schmidt's side. The boy, despite being mere inches from the blast, sustained no injuries from the explosion itself. A basic diagnostic charm informed Severus that Schmidt had a severe concussion and heavy blood loss. Severus was concerned about the blood loss as he could see no wound. He levitated the teen, dismissing the class as he did so.

When Severus had set Schmidt down in a bed in the hospital wing, Poppy, the medi-witch, came to check on the injury.

"Severus, get him a blood-replenishing potion." Poppy ordered. Severus hurriedly fulfilled the order. Poppy had unraveled the bandages on Schmidt's hand. Only years of practice allowed Severus to keep his composure. The words _'It's me'_ were carved into the teen's hand so deep they were cut straight through to the other side. Severus was concerned, but since he could help no more, he left.

Severus was on a warpath. Nothing like this had happened before, so it must have been someone new. No child could acquire such precise cuts without a blood-quill. No first year student could obtain a blood-quill. His conclusion reached Severus went to confront the Headmaster about Dolores Umbridge.

"Ah, Severus. Have you come to take me up on that game of gobstones?" Albus asked.

"Why did you allow that _woman_ to teach here?! She should have never been around children!" Severus' anger was clear.

"Why, Severus- "

"Don't make excuses. Not seven minutes ago, Michael Schmidt was knocked unconscious by a potion explosion caused by the introduction of both iron and water to the potion. Blood! He is in the hospital wing with a hole in his hand. Blood-quills." Severus had to remind himself that he didn't like anyone much less children. Schmidt was far too amusing to not be slightly fond of.

"Now, I'm sure Dolores has an explanation for-"

"Albus! Are you so wrapped up in your plans for Potter that you don't realize that one of your students might die in the next hour?!" Severus had not shouted in a while.

"Severus, I have complete faith in our medi-witch's ability."

"Have you considered the possibility that Schmidt is merely one of many? I recall that others have had, or are scheduled to have detention with that poisonous, bunch-backed toad." Severus spat. He turned on his heel and walked away, but before Severus had left the room he said,

"If he dies, she will as well."

Severus still had to teach. He set essays for every year and had them work on the essays in class, so Severus could be free to plot against Dolores. Severus recalled the insult he had used for her. The Shakespearean insult had come far too easily to him for Severus to be completely comfortable.

Six days previously:

Severus had assigned a simple second year potion to Schmidt. The teen had then proceeded to question every step and ingredient with genuine curiosity.

"Why shredded? Is there a difference between whole weevil skin and shredded weevil skin? What kind of difference?" Schmidt asked. Severus was gratified that someone cared to learn about his subject, but he wished half-heartedly that the boy would stop asking so many questions at once.

Current Day:

Dolores Umbridge denied the use of blood-quills. Without probable cause or a warrant Aurors could not search or arrest her. A fact which Severus cursed, as she was torturing students. Severus fully intended to fulfill the promise he had made the headmaster. If Michael Schmidt died, Severus would kill Dolores Umbridge.


	6. Chapter 6

It was winter when Mike showed up again. Harry saw him coming to Care of Magical Creatures from his place near the woods.

"Hey." Mike said softly. Mike was wearing his Bonnie shirt once more. He was pale and there were dark circles under his eyes. His right hand was still covered in bandages.

"Are you alright? I don't think you're going to believe this, but _Snape_ was worried about you." Harry said. Mike flashed Harry a small, sleepy smile.

"Can't imagine why that'd happen. I always befriend the weirdest people. No offense." Mike slurred his words slightly.

Hagrid led the class to a sheltered clearing in the forest. Harry was confused and concerned about what they might be learning about, with the dead cow and all. Hagrid asked who could see the dragon-like beasts. Harry raised his hand and beside him Mike did as well. Everything was going smoothly until Umbridge arrived.

She interrogated and demeaned Hagrid, and questioned the students. Harry didn't put much stock in the truth of the answers until Umbridge asked Mike who he had seen die, that he could see thestrals.

"It was an accident.." Mike whispered, "I- No. No, it wasn't. I killed a man. I wasn't thinking and he was going to hurt them and then I threw the knife and the sprinklers went off and there was blood everywhere…" Mike spoke faster and faster and began hyperventilating. Harry began to panic. Mike had just gotten back and already he was catatonic. Hermione grabbed Mike's hand and announced that she and Harry were going to take Mike to the hospital wing.

Madam Pomfrey took one look at Mike and swept him into a hospital bed. Madam Pomfrey got Mike to drink a milky-white potion. The matron then dismissed both Harry and Hermione.

A few weeks before Christmas, Snape took Harry aside and informed him that Mike had been transferred to Saint Mungos Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Not a week and a half after that news Harry inadvertently saved Mr. Weasley's life. Harry made sure to grab both Mike's large, black box and his music box, with the intention of bringing them to his friend in the hospital. The Weasley family, Harry and Hermione in tow, went to visit Mr. Weasley. After a conversation, Harry led his friends back down to the front desk. When Harry got to the front of the line, he asked where he could find Mike.

Mike looked downright ghostly against the white hospital bedsheets. He was half-sitting up against a pillow as a rather well endowed trainee healer spoon fed him pudding. Mike glared at Ron when the redhead snickered.

"Sorry, I'm not very good company at the moment. I haven't been sleeping." Mike's voice was hoarse and raspy.

"I though you'd prefer having these with you" Harry said pulling both items out of a bag Hermione had put an extension charm on. Mike's face lit up when he saw the music box.

"Put the music box on the nightstand and the big box on that chair" Mike directed.

"I'm sorry you keep getting hurt" Hermione said. Mike shrugged and took another bite of pudding.

"If you don't mind my asking, why is your voice messed up if your hand is the only thing injured?" She asked. Mike ate more pudding.

"Treatment hurts like hell. I'm not religious, but thank God they reattached my tongue." Mike continued enjoying his pudding. Ron expressed his desire for a cup of tea. On their way to the tea shop they got waylaid by Gilderoy Lockheart. After dodging that unpleasant experience, the Weasley's and company returned to Grimmauld place.


	7. Chapter 7

By the time Mike was finally healed, exams had already finished. Mike had to smile as he greeted Ron, and Hermione. Hermione fussed over him, and at her behest, Mike displayed his healed hand. The scar tissue was silvery and raised from the rest of his skin. Mike had his box under his left arm, and a backpack slung over one shoulder. His t-shirt was a warm brown and had Freddy Fazbear himself on the front. Harry met them halfway along the first floor hallway. He told a remarkable tale of Lord Voldemort having Sirius, which prompted an explanation as to what was happening. Mike was dragged off to help Ginny and Luna with the distraction. Someone grabbed Mike from behind and began half-carrying, half-dragging him to Umbridge's office. Mike having been in a similar situation before escaped the grip of his captor.

"I can walk." Mike said pointedly walking in step with the burly teen who had caught him. Umbridge's office was packed with captured students. Mike leaned against the wall. Snape entered and struck up a conversation with the woman. When Hermione began fake crying, Mike set down the large box and began to plan a daring escape and rescue.

When Umbridge walked Harry and Hermione out of the room, Mike sprung into action. He kicked the teen who had brought him into the wall. The teen crumpled. The shock allowed the others to reclaim their wands and hex the other lackeys. The group met up on the outskirts of the forest.

While the rest of the group argued over who was going/ not going, Mike decided that no matter what happened he was not coming back for another year at Hogwarts. Mike mounted the thestral easily. They arrived at the Government building in a few minutes. The phone booth spat out several badges. Mike pinned his to his shirt and grinned at Ginny, who looked at him as though here were insane. They made their way to the Department of Mysteries to be met by Death Eaters- ridiculous name for a gang. They split up. Mike retreated to the atrium and because he knew no defensive spells, he stunned his attackers with bright light from his wand. Mike set down his backpack and box, and considering the situation to have need of it, ignored the three way battle between Dumbledore, Voldemort, and Harry and went to open the box.

"Avada Kedavra!" The green light slammed into Mike's head. Mike's body slumped over knocking the lid off the box.


	8. Chapter 8

Cornelius had no idea what was happening. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named himself was standing in the Ministry atrium, Bellatrix by his side. A child lay slumped on the floor beside a box, clearly dead. Silence reigned for what seemed like an eternity, finally broken by the sweet chimes of 'Pop Goes the Weasel'.

A spindly-limbed, doll-like creature climbed out of the box. Cornelius took an involuntary step backwards. The creature tilted its head as though it were confused. It moved to brush the dead teen's hair away from his face.

Abruptly the music was joined by a childish voice repeating the same phrase over and over.

 ** _'Save them. Save them. Save them'_** Cornelius was frightened-what kind of beast was it? Why was it here? It gave a metallic screech.

 _ **'You can't'**_ It said turning to stare at You-Know-Who. Another metallic screech pierced the air. Cornelius watched as it attacked He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, choking the revived man with thin metal cords. With You-Know-Who dead or dying, it returned its focus on the dead child.

 ** _'Give gifts, give life.'_** It placed its hands on the boy's chest. Its hands began to glow a sickly green.

 ** _'I will put you back together'_** In the same instant, the teen gasped and it froze, collapsing like a puppet with its strings cut. Cornelius watched as the youth sat up, cradling it as though it was a child.

"He has no faith in me. Admittedly, Mari was a help in the end." The boy's fingers traced the purple tear-tracks on its face.

"You gave up what was left of yourself to me, Mari?" The boy stood shakily and folded the lifeless body into the box. Cornelius demanded that Dumbledore explain the situation. The boy watched listlessly as the Ministry officials rushed about.

"I want to go home." He whispered. Cornelius felt a small amount of pity for the teen. Dumbledore sent both the revived child and Harry Potter back to Hogwarts.


	9. Chapter 9

Mike stood in the principal's office, lost to the world in his thoughts. _Mari... Why?_ The Marionette never really liked Mike; It usually hung out with Jeremy. Mike briefly entertained the idea that the doll may have actually liked Mike, but the thought was dismissed for the more reasonable explanation: Jeremy asked it to protect Mike.

"I'm certain you both have had a traumatic night. Do either of you wish to speak about it?" Dumbledore said with a grandfatherly look on his face.

"No. I want to go home. I don't want to be here." Mike said his voice wavering. _Damn it all. I sound like I am pigeon-liver'd and lack gall._ Dumbledore smiled kindly at Mike.

"My boy, it's common to seek comfort from the familiar when faced with a catastrophe-" Mike cut him off mid-sentence.

"One: I'm not your 'boy'. Two: I'm going home one way or another, so get on board or get out the way. Three: I'm not traumatized. Four: I'm not coming back, consequences be damned. Good day, gentlemen." Mike said shortly. Mike strode out the door, intent on leaving right that very moment.

The plane ride was a mess, the taxi ride even more so, but when Mike was standing in front of Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria he felt relief. It was open. There were kids running wild. When Mike walked past he swore Freddy winked knowingly. Mike slunk back to the office and, setting the Marionette's box down, tackled Jeremy in a hug.

"Mike! Wait, I thought you wouldn't be back 'til May? Mike? Is everything okay? Why are you crying" Jeremy fretted. Mike grinned tearfully into Jeremy's shoulder.

"Everything is almost perfect"


End file.
